Stories
by TheTimeLadysWife
Summary: AU. What if the circumstances of Jane and Maura's very first meeting were different? What if Jane wasn't undercover? What if she actually was a prostitute? Pretty dark. Intended as an oneshot, but I might reconsider once 'Of Desire' is finished.
1. Jane

Stories.

They say we're all stories in the end. And maybe we are. Maybe we're nothing more than the stories we leave behind us when we die. Jane Rizzoli had plenty of stories to tell; of violence and horror and pain. But there was one story that was different, one story of love and devotion. The one she hoped she would be remembered for. Maybe it is that one story that we should begin with, if only that were possible but another story has to come first.

It had begun many years before, in what Jane now calls the dark times. The times where the light refused to illuminate the depths of the life she had fallen into. Once upon a time Jane had had such dreams for herself, for her life and then she met Casey Jones. When she had met him in that bar on that night, she had been celebrating. She had just been accepted into the Police Academy and she was buzzing; her dreams of becoming a detective were beginning to seem less like a dream. She could do it! The first hurdle had been jumped; all she needed to do now was prove herself worthy.

So in that bar, on that night, as pleasure and pride coursed through her veins, the tall, stocky blonde had approached her. He said he knew her, that they had gone to the same school and maybe they had. Jane could not remember but she accepted the drink he offered her anyway. She was tall, willowy, with an ethereal beauty that captured the attention of many, many men and for her to be offered and to accept a drink was not unusual. The naivety of youth oblivious to the dangers that simple act presented. If it were to happen today, then maybe, just maybe, she would refuse. Refuse and walk away. But on that night, she accepted and it became the first of many drinks Casey Jones would buy her. Midnight came and Jane's friends wanted to leave, Jane resisted. This man was so charming, so enigmatic; she wanted to stay and drink with him some more. But he insisted she go. He could have told them that he would take care of her, he would get her home safely but he didn't and for that alone, Jane began to trust him. And that was her second mistake, she knew that, now.

Days and weeks passed and Casey Jones became a constant in Jane's life and still he was kind, thoughtful but he had certain tastes that Jane, did not understand; tastes that she too would soon develop. And that was her third mistake. Before she knew it, her start date for the academy had come and gone, swept away in the mist and Jane didn't notice. The days had blurred into one, with nothing mattering other than the dope induced euphoria and Casey's gentle touch. And then everything changed, Casey changed. That she was beside him, loving him was not enough. He wanted to share. To share her! And she let him.

Anaesthetised with drink and drugs, she would do whatever he wanted, with whomever he wanted while he watched. He liked to watch. Afterwards, he would be contrite, repentant, full of promises that she would never have to do it again. He was hers, he loved her, would never hurt her. And she believed him, every time she believed him, his remorseful tears breaking down any resistance she had. Until the drugs ran out and he needed her to do it again. If she truly loved him she would do it. It wasn't so bad after all. It was only what she willing did to him, with him and he would be there, watching, protecting. Soon his protection stopped and she spent every night walking the streets alone to provide them with what they both needed to survive.

And then she met Her. For the normal people it was early, for her it was night. Soon she would be home and he would allow her her fix and she would float into heavenly oblivion until it was time to go out again. But she craved some kind of normalcy in her life. She could be like the normal people, on their way to work, stopping for coffee along the way. Stepping into the coffee shop she was pleased to see an older man behind the counter, certain she could charm him into giving her a drink; she dare not spend any of the money she had earned. That belonged to Casey, as she did. But the old man was not kind, would not be charmed and she began to get angry. It was just one lousy cup of coffee damn it, but he would not budge. She could hear the normal people behind her muttering and she looked around viciously. And she was there, smiling. Not like the others, looking at her with distain, afraid her presence would taint them somehow and Jane panicked. No one was nice to her, not really, not without expecting something in return.

The woman's image would not leave her. In her stupor She came to her, an angel of light shining through the dark, reaching out to her and so she found herself drawn to the coffee shop. Watching, waiting, hoping for a glimpse of Her. Days passed without success and Jane became anxious, maybe that one meeting was luck, was her only chance and she had blown it in her fear and self-loathing. But still she tried. Every day she waited, waited until her trembling, nauseous body demanded to be fed and she returned home, to him. And then she found Her. It was strange, as if fate had determined their worlds should come together and collide.

She was stood under a lamppost when it happened. A scream from the darkness and she ran towards the sound. She was too late, the lifeless body lay prostrate, shimmering black pooling around its head, her head. Jane stepped backwards cautiously looking around. No one had seen her here, she should leave. Every instinct in her body told her to run and never look back but her feet would not comply; inertia held her fast. In a daze, time passed her by, until silence and death became sound and life. People surrounded her, questioning her, moving her. And She was there; spotlights making her blonde curls shine as she knelt beside the body. Jane didn't understand. She was soft, kind. Why was she touching death?

Silent Jane watched Her. She stood and a man; young, black, spoke to her, the words dissolving before they met her ears. There was nothing else but Her and Jane needed to go to her. The man held her back. Made her sit. Experience and fear made her unconsciously comply and he left her. Wordlessly she called out to Her, urged Her to come. It worked. The man brought Her to her and She smiled. The same gentle smile she had seen once before. She spoke and Jane heard her voice, melodic and calming; felt Her soft touch upon her arm. Jane opened her mouth to speak. To tell Her she'd been searching for her. That she regretted the harsh words she had spoken before. Nothing came out.

Bright light shone in her eyes and for a second Jane wondered where she was. She hastily looked all round, a rabbit caught in the headlights, to find herself in a room, alone. A white, sterile hospital room and she sunk back into the bed relieved. Here she was safe. The door opened with a creak and Jane bolted upright once more. And She entered. A warmth she had forgotten existed penetrated Jane and she smiled. She had made many mistakes, far more than she could ever count but something was telling her to reach out, to trust one more time. That this time her trust would be rewarded. And so she spoke two small simple words... "Help Me".

With those simple, whispered words the world Jane knew irrevocably changed. She transformed darkness, terror and pain into light, security and tenderness. She stayed with Jane throughout the night and following days, talking to her, caring for her, stroking her hair as withdrawal wracked her weakened body, giving her medication to ease her nausea and pain. Eventually, Jane began to feel something else, a more primal need calling to her: hunger. This too She took care of, bringing her soup and later fruit which Jane devoured with gusto before sleep claimed her once more.

Jane woke; her head finally clear, to find Her asleep in a chair beside her, a look of serenity etched upon her face. She did not know how long either of them had been here but she knew She had not left her. She had stayed! Her angel of light. As Jane gazed down upon her, her eyelids began to flutter and She awoke. For the first time Jane consciously looked into deep hazel eyes; eyes that shone with blues and greens and golds and she realised she didn't know her angel's name.

"Maura. My name is Maura" She answered the unasked question with a shy smile.


	2. Maura

**A/n: When I began this little fic I had a vague idea that I might continue it and as time went on it began to niggle at me that I needed to convey Maura's POV, but even then I was wary of doing so and I have kept putting it off until the niggle wouldn't leave me be! And this is the result. I'm not sure I'm happy with it, but maybe now my muse will be placated and allow me to write something else!**

* * *

Maura

Doctor Maura Isles also had stories to tell, stories full of loneliness, neglect and pain, and she too resided in darkness. To the outside world Maura had it all; a successful career, money, beauty, style, but inside, she had nothing other than responsibility, her work and Bass; her pet tortoise. And so she drifted through life, empty; an automaton following the same routine day in day out. Each day, she would rise early to practice Surya Namaskar and Sava Sana in an attempt to focus and ground herself in body and mind. Then, after a healthy breakfast of quinoa porridge and fruit, she would shower, dress and leave for work. Twelve hours later, she would return home, eat dinner and read until retiring to bed. There she would lay alone in the dark contemplating the futility and fragility of life, mourning for the carefree, rebellious girl she had once been and praying to a god she didn't believe in for an end to the hollowness which consumed her.

Day in day out, as she dissected the corpses laid out on her autopsy table, breaking them down to their composite parts in search of the physical signs of their life and death, she imagined the vitality of the life they had left behind. Of the mothers, fathers, lovers, children mourning them. Of the love they had experienced and the fullness of their lives. Day in day out, she was forced to face the vulnerability of humanity and to admit that many, too many, of those lives were hollow, empty, even violent, just as her own was. It was for these that she felt a kinship, a need to help, to finally give their lives meaning and hoped, that in so doing she would give reason to her own existence.

On that late autumn day, Maura was forced to break from her routine. On that day, she had an early morning medical board meeting to attend and so she found herself waiting in-line at a small Italian coffee shop, lost, as she so often was, in her own thoughts. Slowly, she became aware of a commotion in the line, of people muttering and shuffling with impatience and annoyance. Curious, Maura glanced down the line. And then she saw her; her beauty transcending her dogged facade and Maura felt an inexplicable pull, captivating her. Catching the woman's eye, Maura smiled. The woman, however, did not return the simple gesture. Instead she glared and Maura felt pang of dismay that once again her inherent kindness was not enough. That she was not good enough. That Queen of the Dead was all she was destined to be: unloved, unlovable and unseen.

All through the day that followed, the woman consumed Maura's thoughts as she moved, her detour over, dejectedly along the same tracks she always followed. As dusk fell, Maura left her light, sterile office ready to return to her opulent Beacon Hill home. As she reached the interstate, in her sensible, environmentally friendly car, she found herself being drawn north, as if it truly were magnetic. For the second time that day, she entered the small, now was lifeless, coffee shop, not knowing why she had come here or what she should do now that she had. Behind the counter, the gruff old barista continued sweeping the floor, unaware of her presence in his eagerness to shut up shop. Finally, she gently coughed and he turned to face her, his annoyance at the late intrusion clearly evident on his face as she asked about the woman. Forlorn, she left the barista to complete his chores, with instructions that should the woman ever appear again, he should give her anything she desired and she, Dr. Maura Isles, Chief Medical Examiner for the State of Massachusetts, would pay.

Days passed and Maura received no news of the woman. Certain that she would not see her again and knowing that the woman had rejected her kindness, she tried to put her out of her mind; yet that one chance encounter haunted her day and night and the seemingly futile need to find her again consumed her.

It was late when the call came in and technically, Maura was off duty but nonetheless she took the case. When she arrived at the scene, the dark alleyway was a hive of activity, with police officers beginning to collect evidence under makeshift floodlights. She needlessly flashed her ID at a uniformed cop she vaguely recognised and dipped underneath the tape as the officer raised it for her. Quickly and efficiently, she examined the body; dictating initial findings to the waiting detectives. _"Caucasian Female. Approximately 19-25 years old. Knifelike wound to the throat." _

As she stood, a cough caught her attention and she turned to face the young, black detective she had frequently worked alongside, whom she has helped to overcome his fear of death and whom she considered to be more than an acquaintance, if not yet a friend. Were it not for this rapport that had built between them, she would have refused his request to examine a witness, a live patient. Unwillingly, she allowed him to guide her out of the light towards the squad cars she could barely see in the darkness. With each step, the silhouettes brightened, until Maura could see the outline of a thin woman sat on the step of the EMT truck and her heart leapt with recognition. It was her! She had found her, without trying she had found her!

Gently, Maura spoke to the woman who merely stared at her, every question going unanswered. Despite the darkness, Maura could see recognition and understanding in the woman's eyes. She remembered her, just as Maura remembered her. She yearned for her, just as Maura had yearned for her. She had searched for her, just as Maura had searched for her. Undeterred, Maura continued to speak, explaining each thing she did as she thoroughly examined her; noting the ridges on her nails from vitamin deficiencies, the track marks marring her pale olive skin and the trancelike state of narcotic intoxication. Finally, she told the detective that the woman was healthy but in shock and recommended that she be taken to hospital for observation, all the while beginning to feel the slight prickle beneath her skin which accompanied the half-truth.

With the victim safely dispatched to the morgue, Maura excused herself from duty and departed the scene. Only minutes later, her heart pounding with anticipation she arrived at Mass. General Hospital; it wasn't until Maura reached the woman's door that she felt any qualms. Stood outside the room Maura questioned her own sanity. She did not know this obviously damaged woman, their only interaction before today had been less than friendly and yet Maura still felt a compulsion she did not understand to go to her, to be with her and to help her. Taking a deep breath, she tentatively pushed the heavy wooden door and moved inside the room to see the woman jerk upright upon the bed; her palpable fear immediately dissipating as she saw Maura and gave a genuine, happy smile. Maura's heart leapt with relief as she returned the look and the woman barely audibly uttered her plea. The following days passed in a whirlwind as she sat at the still unknown woman's side directing the treatment and care she should receive. As time went on, for a reason beyond protocol, she began to call the woman Jane. Maura could not explain why this was so, other than it felt right and for once she had decided to listen to her instinct.

Sat in the uncomfortable chair beside Jane's bed, Maura continued her vigil until, consumed by exhaustion, she succumbed to the pull of sleep. And as she slept she dreamed. She dreamed of a life beyond anything she had ever known; a life with Jane at her side and a small child, their daughter, between them, holding both their hands. From within her dream, she felt herself being watched and she slowly opened her eyes, to see Jane finally lucid and gazing down at her; her eyes shining vats of dark chocolate that drew her in until gently and unbidden she spoke:

"Maura. My name is Maura".


End file.
